OK, so you’re a celebrity and you’re horny and you’re packing a new high definition digi-cam. You’ve got two options: put the damn camera away or record some serious banging that will one day be leaked to the world.

The world.

I mean, come on. What is it with these people? Pam Anderson misplaced two -- count 'em -- two sex tapes. Paris Hilton has an entire shelf at TLA.

Even O.J. Simpson got in on the act this year with a leaked tape of himself and two women. He denies it’s him. Is it? The Juice would never lie to us, would he?

My question is, with all the sex tapes, why doesn’t Josh Harnett lose one? Can’t you just see Josh butt nekkid, faced down on a messy bed in the cold light of a Motel 6, an empty six pack of Tecate on the night stand, a cigarette dangling from his mouth all puffy with desire as he’s rimmed mercilessly by Toby Maguire while a naked and stroking Freddie Prinze Jr. records it all?

OK, you’ve guessed it: I’m totally into these tapes. How else but through the sheer stupidity of celebs would I be able to see Tommy Lee’s pretty, pretty (have I mentioned pretty?) dick bobbing up and down in the front seat of his and Pam’s jeep. You dream about these things, you beat off to them, and then there they are.

I remember when I was a kid hearing about Rob Lowe’s sex tape. My heart stopped. I’d been beating off to images of his bare butt in films like Bad Influence and About Last Night -- but the thought of getting to see Rob’s dick?! And hard?! And fucking?! Who cares if he was fucking a girl? A guy can squint. A guy can dream! When I finally saw the tape, I had to take to my bed for weeks with a cold compress and a fistful of Valium. Not only did gorgeous Rob have a great, hard cock that jutted out at a 90 degree angle, and not only did he love strutting around to show it off (don’t we love guys who show off?) but there was another guy in the video holding the camera.

This meant to me that Rob, somewhere deep down in his exhibitionistic nasty little group-scene heart, didn’t mind another guy being in the room when he was having sex. This meant, in my feverish imagination, that Rob certainly would have considered a hand job or a blowjob from a guy. Would it be too much to hope that he might let me finger his butt?

I roused myself and tried to locate Rob’s publicist, but the guy wouldn’t take my calls. No matter. I had gained insight into the workings of Rob Lowe’s freaky sex mind, and I was grateful.

Which I think is the lure of these tapes: we get to see behind all the calculated press pose and to the down and dirty raunch of celebrities’ sex drives … or their sweet sides. Who knew how sweet and grateful Tommy Lee could be? Constantly telling Pam how pretty she was, and how much he loved her while giving her props on her BJ technique. And that scamp Colin Farrell, so appreciative himself, going down on a woman with the tender words “This is breakfast, lunch and fucking dinner right here.” Adorable.

With performances of this caliber, it’s entirely possible that amateur celeb porn might even one day become legit. When he needed money, Saving Private Ryan’s Tom Sizemore released his own tape without a pretense of thievery.

My lustful mind dreams of others. You just know Jamie Foxx has reams of tape of him smacking girls with that big thang. You just know Matthew McConaughey has a hard drive packed with captures of his fat Johnson plugging one stoned Texas beauty queen after another.

But I prefer to think of the celeb porn that’s secured behind so many locked doors that, if they were opened, would change the world. Here I’m thinking of that tape Tom Cruise and John Travolta made. The one locked in the Scientology tower high above Sunset Boulevard. Where Travolta squeals like a girl, makes Tom sniff poppers, and they both fight to be the bottom. Or the one buried in a vault deep in a Malibu Canyon that shows Mel Gibson taking it up the ass from Steven Spielberg. Or the one Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson made on location, where Vince smacks Owen’s ass with a riding crop as Owen bucks like the bad horsey he is.

A fan can dream, right?

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